


All the Choirs

by WinnietheShit



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinnietheShit/pseuds/WinnietheShit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of drabbles, all set within the same universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She holds her breath as the crown is lowered onto her head.

She waits for it to be heavy, for the metal to dig into the flesh of her scalp. 

For a moment she does not even register that the crown has met her hair.

Snow White opens her eyes.

Amongst the thousand faces of her new people, there is a face she cannot find.

"Hail to the queen!" they cry.

And her eyes dart and they seek and - 

\- she finds him.

She breathes.


	2. Chapter 2

She's never known such finery.  The queen's dresses are finer than hers by far, but that is only fitting, and Greta is more than content with her own gowns.  Sometimes it's all she can do not to run up to her room (her very own room!) and sit among her clothes for hours, running her fingers across the silk sleeves and pearl buttons.

But she is the queen's lady and must attend to her wherever she may wish.  It's a small price to pay, for now Greta has no less than three maids, to bathe her and dress her and style her hair, and needn't trouble herself to so much as lift a finger if she wants something done.

Greta both loathes and adores it.

She misses working.  She misses waking at dawn, cold and bleary-eyed, and trekking back and forth, back and forth, to milk the cows and scatter seed to the chickens and to fill the trough with water so cold that she hisses when it slops over and splashes against her legs.  She even ( _Don't be stupid, Greta_ ) misses her blisters.

Greta will never tell the queen this, so she keeps herself busy with lessons on needlepoint and dancing and etiquette.  The queen joins her some afternoons, and these are the happiest days Greta has ever known, but most afternoons she's meeting with her councilmembers to discuss the state of the kingdom.  Once, Greta asked if the queen would like her to attend these as well, but the queen only laughed.

"You'd only be bored," she said, gently tugging on a lock of her friend's hair.  "I know they bore me."

Greta curtseyed and bowed her head and replied, "Yes, Your Grace."

The queen blinked.  "Don't do that.  Don't - don't call me that, please.  Not you."  Before Greta could reply, she turned away and hugged her arms close to her side.  "I suppose you could come.  To the council meetings, I mean.  If you like."  The words seemed difficult for her to say.  "I was only - I only meant that, well, you needn't inconvenience yourself for my sake."

"But - you're my  _queen_."

She whirled back around and gripped Greta very tightly by the forearms.  "I'm  _everyone's_ queen, Greta," she replied, the words coming out in a rush, "I don't need any more subjects.  Please - please don't - I just - a friend, be a friend to me, Greta, please."  Her eyes were wild and shining.  Greta pressed her fingers to the queen's - to Snow White's cheek.

"Yes," she whispered, smiling.  "Of course."

They share a bedchamber for most nights after that.  Usually Greta slips over to Snow White's room to brush her hair before they sleep, but if a council meeting has stretched on longer than usual, Snow White creeps through the door between their bedrooms and Greta pretends that the squeaky doorhinge doesn't wake her.  Greta's never shared a bed with anyone but her sister, but Liesl's been gone for years.  She was one of the first to go, when the queen - and suddenly Greta wonders how she could ever have addressed both Snow White and that  _monster_ by the same title, when the queen she knows and loves looks such a mess in the mornings and snorts with laughter as she presses her cold toes to Greta's calf.

Some nights she doesn't want to go to sleep, wants to stay awake brushing the queen's hair forever, laughing and giggling and gossiping and thinking,  _I've never had this. Could I have this?_

_Please,_   _God_ , _let me have this._

Some nights she doesn't want to go to sleep for fear that if she wakes, it will be upon a pile of straw to the sun glaring at her from behind her eyelids and a rooster crowing in her ear.

_It's too perfect of a dream to last_ , she tells herself moments before she drifts off to sleep.   _Besides_ , she thinks,  _I don't deserve this.  I can't deserve this._

She squeezes her eyes shut to stop the tears.

_Oh please, God, let me have this._


	3. Chapter 3

He wonders - what  _is_ it about the huntsman that endears him to the queen so?

William isn't jealous, surely - there's nothing to be jealous of, he set that aside a long time go - but the huntsman baffles him.  He's gruff and big and coarse, and snorts at the high lords in their fancy get-ups and sweet perfumes.  He has no place in the court, yet Snow White refuses to send him back to his home - wherever his home is.  The forest, perhaps?   _Or the nearest alehouse?_  William scowls and casts the thought from his mind.  It is unkind to think such things.  The huntsman has been nothing but helpful.  Of course, his manners require a bit of work, but so do the queen's, after years of solitude.

_But the huntsman has not been locked in a tower for years.  He has no excuse to be so crude._

It's no matter.  Snow White has accepted him.  William must try to do the same.

And he  _does_ try - but the huntsman seems to look down on him just as much as he looks down on the perfumed lords.  

He's even warmed to the queen's shy little maid - and the girl ( _Greta?_ ) seems to return his favor.  The evolution of their friendship is a source of even more confusion to William.  How could such a frail little thing work her way past the huntsman's unforgiving scowls?  He jokes with her and laughs with her and smiles at her, and makes a point to sit beside her at meals where Snow White's attention must be focused on a foreign diplomat, rather than simply skipping out on the dinner altogether.  He's come to be some sort of protector of skinny young girls who know little of court, William's noticed.  

At last, William begins to suspect their friendship was borne of their mutual  _outsideness_.  Neither are privy to any matters of state.  Neither have even entered the councilroom while a meeting is in progress.

And, for some inexplicable reason, William longs to be part of that outsideness.  He wants to be able to sit with Snow White and Greta and Eric and know what the queen has said to make Eric smile, wants to know what will draw shy Greta out of her cocoon to laugh and jape as loudly as the rest of them, wants to know why the queen looks less and less like _the_ _queen_ with each passing moment she spends with the two and more and more like the Snow White he remembers from his childhood.  

His breakthrough comes one afternoon when he finally works up the courage to ask just why it is that Snow White's maid tends to hide behind the huntsman's shoulder every time William draws near.

"She's afraid of you, 'expect," the huntsman replies, sharpening his axe.  It seems as though he's always sharpening his axe around William.

William blinks.  "Well -  _why?_ "

The huntsman snorts.  "Likely it's your fancy getup.  That and you always look - worried, like you're about to snap at one of the servants for not doing their job right."  He chuckles.  "Comes with being raised a noble, I 'spose."

And the thought hits him - What does the huntsman  _see_ him as, anyway?  Another of the perfumed lords?  William plops himself into a seat beside the huntsman.  "I wouldn't do that," he says, thinking back on any of his actions that might have led either Greta or Eric to think of him this way.  He turns to the huntsman.  "I don't do that, do I?" _  
_

The huntsman pauses in his axe-sharpening and screws up his face in thought.  "Not that I can recall."

"Oh."  William gets to his feet.  "Well.  My thanks, huntsman.  It was most generous of you to enlighten me so.  Truly, it's been quite - "

"Oh, don't go on doing that."  The huntsman rolls his eyes.  "That's why she's so scared of you, y'know."

He blinks again.  "Doing what?"

"Getting all fancy and proper.  It's not like we're part of the gentry, needing to be primped and pandered to every second."  He lets out a sharp laugh.  "I mean, Greta was born and raised on a farm, for God's sake.  She woke up most mornings with straw in her hair and stinking of horse piss."

William nods, slowly and jerkily.  "I'll - I'll keep that in mind.  Thank you, huntsman.  No - really," he adds, before the huntsman can protest.

He protests anyway, "No need to call me that, yer dukeness," a wry grin on his face, "I haven't even had to hunt for my own meat for the past three months."

William feels a smile break out across his own face.  "Thank you, then, Eric.

**Author's Note:**

> ok that whole "AND I'M JAVERT" thing has been stuck in my head all week so when i was about to type in the title i typed in "AND I'M JAVERT" on accident at first
> 
>  
> 
> (should i have kept it that way)
> 
> (also has the title i actually did put been done before  
> i should probably care huh  
> i really don't  
> i'm a bad person)
> 
> (i'll shut up now)


End file.
